When Archer woke up the next morning, the dull ache around his eye was an instant reminder of what had happened last night. For a hot minute under the dazzling stage lights, he had thought they were going to pull it off. The extended tango duet he and Mateo pieced together was flawless … and scorching hot. Then Dominik started bleeding again. Betty fainted. Caleb cried through the samba. Half the routines fell apart as they had to deal with those disasters on the fly. Then Archer blanked on the back half of the paso, so Mateo had to drag him through the steps. The rest of the troupe was either embarrassed or mad or worried throughout, and it did not lead to many smiles. The audience seemed baffled, tittering at first when they thought the goofs were part of the show, then descending into awkward silence, and finally, the worst insult of all, pitying applause.

After the second show, which went marginally better, Archer had looked around for Mateo but there was no sign of him. “Did Mateo leave?” he asked Betty, who was sprawled on a row of chairs with a cold cloth over her eyes.

“Yes, he said he was—and I’m quoting—‘fucking done.’”

Archer’s heart sank with those leaden words. Oh. He had imagined the heat, of course. Mateo was a pro. He had had to find a way for the show to go on, so he did. That was it.

“Fuck,” Archer mumbled, now into his pillow. Such an idiot. Then Fuck again when he saw he had a text waiting from Mateo. He swiped it open, breath held.

Let me know when you’re up. I’d like to
talk.

His stomach heaved. Was there anything worse than We need to talk without any context? His brain spun with possibilities, each more outlandish than the last. He blames me for what happened with Ben and Caleb. He needs to explain why he hates me forever. He wants to kick my ass. He’s going to make sure I never get another dancing job as long as I live …

I wanted to say again how sorry I am for what happened, Mateo, he started typing. So, so, so sorry. I understand if you hate me—he stopped, staring at his words. Jesus, Archer. He deleted it all and tried again. Hi, I’m up. When/where do you want to meet?

Dining hall in thirty?

See you then.

Archer grabbed only coffee and a bagel, knowing his stomach was too worked up for him to eat much. Mateo was waiting with a mug at a small table in the back corner. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked like he’d barely slept all night. Archer imagined he looked much the same. Plus a black eye.

“I’m so sorry—” Archer started saying as he sat, right when Mateo spoke.

“Archer, I—”

They both stopped.